


Wicked Elixir

by daughterofdurinanddestiel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Community: hermione_smut, Desk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gags, Good Severus Snape, HP: EWE, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Mild S&M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Needles, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Non-Canon Relationship, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Canon Compliant, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Professors, Public Sex, Rope Bondage, Rough Body Play, Rough Oral Sex, S&M, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Severus Snape Lives, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Spanking, Sub Hermione Granger, Voice Kink, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-05 21:47:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6724828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daughterofdurinanddestiel/pseuds/daughterofdurinanddestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Hermione Granger saves the life of Severus Snape during the Battle of Hogwarts, she discovers her feelings for him are not so platonic anymore.<br/>At school, back under his instruction, Hermione discovers that her Potions Master had a secret musical past...and that she has a voice kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the anniversary of the Battle Of Hogwarts, I wanted to write a Snape Lives fic, because I really can't accept his death. Plus, I always wanted to write a Snamoine fic.  
> Note, this is not underage, because Hermione should have graduated school already.  
> Enjoy 8k words of smut!

_ Drink up sweet decadence _

_ I can't say no to you _

_ And I've completely lost myself and I don't mind _

_ I can't say no to you _

_ Shouldn't let you conquer me completely _

 

Hermione Granger stood before the doors of Hogwarts, taking a breath. Repairs had been a success, and the school did not show a hint of the severe war damage it had suffered just this past May. Magic was truly a wonderful thing.

Ron and Harry had told her she was an idiot for returning to take her NEWTs, when she had a job as an Auror already offered to her. But she did not want to be an Auror. She wanted to help elves, centaurs, werewolves, and more. To do that, she required NEWTs.

It had been a huge blowout, and it resulted with she and Ron breaking up due to different values in life. Thankfully, it had not negatively affected her friendships with Harry or Ginny, his fiancee. In fact, if anything, she and Ginny had gotten closer, confiding and talking about things Hermione would have gone mad for keeping to herself…

 

****

 

Once Voldemort had been defeated on May 2nd, Hermione had thought it polite to return to the Shrieking Shack and bring Professor Snape’s body to the Great Hall with the others. It was disrespectful to such a war hero to leave him to rot there.

Entering the Shack, she was stilled, looking down at the man who had caused her so much anguish as a student, the man who had saved their all their lives. She understood now why he had acted the way he did, she understood his emotional trauma, and now it was too late to ever try to reconcile with him.

She bent down brushing the dark locks from his face when she realised something: it had been hours since the professor had been bitten by Nagini, and yet his body was not cold, despite  the unseasonable chill that always permeated the Shack.

Something rising in her heart, she pressed her hand to the part of his neck still intact, and felt a pulse! Gasping, she tore a piece of her already torn shirt and pressed it to his throat, which was not bleeding so badly anymore. Once she was certain that he was stable, she sighed.

“Professor, sir, hang on, okay? I’m coming back for you!” Leaping up, she ran back to the battlefield, remembering a lesson the professor had given in their fifth year on antidotes: nearly every antidote was made with bezoar and the venom of the very thing that had poisoned you in the first place. She needed the corpse of the Brazilian boa constrictor in the battlefield.

“Granger!” She jumped, seeing McGonagall racing towards her. “What on Earth are you doing?”

“Professor Snape! He’s alive, in the Shack. He needs help: the poison caused full body paralysis, which is why we thought he was dead. I need to make an antidote,” Hermione replied hastily, conjuring up a phial and using her wand to send some of the venom from Nagini into it before she corked it securely.

McGonagall’s eyes widened, and she said, “What are you waiting for? The dungeons are intact: get to it. I’ll send Poppy to tend to him and bring him to the Great Hall. Go!”

Hermione ran down to the Potions classroom, thankful it was so far underground that the rooms had not been damaged. Rushing around the desk--the desk she always thought of as Snape’s, despite the fact he had not used it for two years--she grabbed things she needed from the storeroom and began mixing the potion, hoping she remembered the lesson well enough.

It seemed like forever before she finished the potion and was able to bring is to her ailing professor. Madam Pomfrey had given him a blood replenishing elixir and healed his physical wounds. All that was left was the antidote to rid his body of the poison.

Hermione stood over her professor, despite Pomfrey trying to send her away. Harry also hovered, concerned. As if he had a right to be. In first year, Hermione had tried to champion Snape to him, but his stubbornness had exasperated her. Deep down, Hermione had always known that Snape was not as bad as he had made himself out to be, and now that she was right, she was angry with Harry for having been so against the professor for many years.

She asked to stay with him so that Pomfrey had time to go and see to the other patients. Thankfully, there were many more wounded as opposed to dead. The Weasley family’s sobs could be heard above the general din, as could little Dennis Creevey, mourning his brother, Colin. So many had died, and for what? Nothing. It made her sick.

It was not until the next day that Professor Snape stirred, moving his atrophied limbs. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, unexpected tears coming to her eyes. She grabbed onto his hand, unthinking.

“Professor? Can you hear me?” she asked quietly.

He groaned. She could only imagine the pain he was in. Turning his head, dark hair fell over his pale brow. His eyes fluttered open, and it ran across Hermione’s mind that he had very lovely, dark lashes. The obsidian depths latched onto her eyes, piercing her. But unlike normal when he looked at her, there was no anger, no exasperation. Just wonder.

“Hermione…” She felt the press of his hand in hers and her face flamed, both at his touch and the use of her given name. “What happened?”

“You were poisoned, sir,” she said. “But you’re going to be fine now. Just rest, okay? I made you an antidote, and it’s still working in you.”

Surprising her, the stern professor smiled, his eyes closing again. “Bossy little know-it-all,” he murmured, smile still on his lips as he fell back asleep.

She giggled, relieved tears springing into her eyes. He was really going to be fine, that dark voice wrapping itself around her mind and settling there comfortably.

A week later, Hermione had received an owl at The Burrow, where she was staying until the new term began. Opening it, she felt an unmistakable blush as she saw her former professor’s handwriting.

“Miss Granger, I would like to express my gratitude for you. If not for your kindness in wanting to retrieve my body, I would not be alive. It seems I was not such a bad teacher after all. It may interest you to know that, thanks to Potter and my memories, all charges against me were dropped, and I was awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class.

“It is not in my nature to be overtly expressive, but it would be wrong of me to not acknowledge your good deeds, and surprisingly good potion skills. I am in your debt.

“S. Snape.”

 

****

 

That was the last she had heard from her former Potions Master, and she found she would miss his instruction in her final year. Compared to him, Slughorn was barely average. She had learned little under his teachings in sixth year, and hated that he might be part of the reason her final grade at Hogwarts was going to be mediocre.

She went inside and waved at the people she knew, including Luna Lovegood, now in her final year, and sat down beside Ginny Weasley and across from Neville Longbottom. Looking across the Great Hall, she spotted Draco Malfoy sitting with the Slytherins, but he was not the same cocky boy he had been. The war had affected all of thim, and he was no exception. All joy seemed to have abated his body, and she felt sorry for him.

At the High Table, Hermione was glad to see McGonagall as Headmistress, and that much of the teaching staff--including Hagrid--was the same. What she also noticed was the empty place where Slughorn should be.

“Do you think he’s ill?” Neville asked, gesturing to the empty seat.

Hermione shrugged, not wanting to see too excited about the prospect of maybe not having to learn from him. She might have been humiliated by Snape on several occasions, but there was no denying he was brilliant. Slughorn was adequate. At best.

The three of them compared class schedules, and found that they had many of the same classes, except that Neville did not take Transfiguration anymore. Grubby-Plank was now teaching it until they could find a permanent replacement for McGonagall. It occurred to Hermione that they had no Head Of House, either. Defence Against The Dark Arts would be taught by Andromeda Tonks, someone Hermione liked, at least.

McGonagall welcomed the first years and then said, “As there have been staff changes this year, for the remainder of the term Gryffindor will be sharing the Head Of House with Slytherin.” Collective groans from all around, especially from Draco and Hermione, but for different reasons.

_ Slughorn as my Head? If he asks me to join Slug Club now, just because of the war, I’ll poison him _ , she thought, angry, and still a little insulted at not having been included before, except as Harry’s ‘Muggle-born friend’..

That anger held in her mind till Potions class the next day. She sat, glowering, at her desk. Deep down, she knew there were more reasons than Slughorn’s questionable intelligence that made her wish Snape was still teaching her, but she did not want to comment on that, even to herself.

As they waited for the stragglers to get in, Hermione saw Draco sit down and smile at her. She smiled back, remembering how he and Narcissa had tried to save Harry.

The dungeon door slammed shut with a resounding bang, making everyone jump. Hermione did not turn around, not wanting to see the fat old man lumber up like he was the best thing since broomsticks. It wasn’t until she saw Neville’s face had gone a sickly white that she put her head up from her cauldron.

She did not have time to turn around when the Potion Master whipped past, black robes billowing behind him as if no time had passed. Try as she might, she could not contain her shocked, “Professor!”

Severus Snape glared at her from the front of the room. “Miss Granger. You decided to give up glory as an Auror and return to school, I see.” His tone dripped with condescension, but a smirk ghosted on his thin lips. “As class has not yet begun, I’ll refrain from taking points from your House for your outburst.”

She hid her own smile. Nothing had changed, and she found that she liked that. It wouldn’t be Potions Class without the snarky attitude of Severus Snape. It seemed that Neville didn’t share her enthusiasm, as he was still as white as cottage cheese, staring at the black pillar at the front of the class.

“Since I see Slughorn was more concerned with his little club than actually teaching, I highly doubt many of you will earn NEWTs for this class,” he said condescendingly. “In that case, I am giving everyone until next Monday to decide if they do not want to continue taking Potions this year. After that, you will be unable to drop this class and take up another. Come Monday, when you have your homework graded, anyone below an ‘E’ grade will also not be allowed to continue under my instruction.”

Everyone watched, Snape looking highly amused, as Neville clattered to his feet, gathering his books, and bolted from the room. The Slytherins laughed, and indeed Hermione saw Ginny biting her lip to avoid laughing as well. He faced the Dark Lord and even killed a Horcrux, but learning from Snape was apparently where Neville drew the line.

“Well, it seems we have Longbottom’s decision,” Snape said dryly. “Anyone else want to run away like a scared infant?” Dark eyes swept the class, and Hermione was caught in those black pools of ice. “Very well. Let’s begin.”

Class ended with Hermione’s hair in a fuzzy mess from the cauldron heat, and she was halfway certain her potion was perfect. She had been challenged, had her intelligence tested against that of her professor’s. This was why she never dropped Potions, even when Snape had been cruel and insulting. He was a brilliant man.

“Coming, Hermione?” Ginny asked, breaking her thoughts.

“One second. Go on without me,” Hermione said, smiling. When the room was almost empty, she approached the professor’s desk.

He looked up, his face just as impassive as it had always been. “Miss Granger,” his deep voice reverberated in her chest. It did not make her shirk away as it had years ago. Instead, it sent a bolt of heat to her belly, warming her. “Did you need something?”

“No, sir. I just wanted to say how glad I am that you are back,” she said, rushed. “I did not enjoy Potions in my sixth year.”

Snape cocked an eyebrow. “Do not think I will be treating you any differently because of what happened after the Battle. What you did does not raise you above any of the other students.”

“I would never think of that, sir,” she said, not as perturbed by his sour disposition as she had once been. “See you on Friday.” Her final year at Hogwarts seemed to be looking up.

One morning during winter term Ginny received a package from her brother, Bill. It was a bunch of Wizarding World records from various musicians and groups. Hermione knew Ginny was deeply into music (almost as much as she was into Quidditch), and the girl squealed in excitement, asking if she and Luna Lovegood could come into Hermione’s Head Girl room to listen to them that night. She agreed, providing Flitwick said Luna could leave the dorm that night.

Hermione and Ginny sorted through the records, which Bill had attached notes to, telling them what each were like. Aside from the Weird Sisters, there were other bands Hermione had never even heard of.

“Wicked Elixir,” Ginny read, holding up an album with a photograph of a phial filled with luminescent silver liquid and a single asphodel flower. The album said it was released in 1979. It was apparently self-titled.

Hermione picked up Bill’s note, while Luna studied the album with Ginny.

_ “These guys only ever released one album. It was really great, but very dark. You might not like it. I had an ex who was madly in love with them.” _

“The insert won’t come out,” Ginny complained as Hermione went to play the album. It was their third of the night, and no one had yet complained about the noise. It was one of the perks of being Head Girl. Hermione was sure Malfoy, as Head Boy, felt similarly.

The album began to play, haunting, heavy music that swirled around the high walls of her room. She checked the song titles. “The Killing Curse”. “Asphodel”. “Sempra”. “Dark Hearts”. “For My Enemies”. When Bill said the album was dark, he was not kidding!

The music faded into a throbbing drumbeat and the deepest, richest, sexiest voice Hermione had ever heard began to sing.

“How am I supposed to believe

“That this is wrong

“When it feels so good?

“How am I supposed to stay

“In your light when you

“Are so far away?

“How can I ignore the pain

“They inflict upon me

“When killing them feels so good?”

Hermione put her hands to her heart, feeling how fast it beat as she listened to this delicious voice weave itself around her mind. It was liquid velvet, caressing her very nerve endings. She had goosebumps on her arms and neck. Was it possible to be turned on by a voice? That was “The Killing Curse”. “Asphodel” began to play next, slower and nearly mournful.

“You were just like asphodel

“So pretty to look at

“But deadly to take

“The very thing that kept me alive was killing me

“You were the only thing

“That made me happy

“My sweet flower

“I had no idea that you would be my undoing

“But I would rather have been poisoned

“Given the Draught of Living Death

“Than deal with this pain

“Searing my heart

“And warping my mind.”

Hermione felt tears in her eyes, even as she was keenly aroused. The voice singing was so broken, so joyless, that she wanted to sob for whatever loss he had had. Neither Ginny or Luna were as affected as she was, but they both agreed that the songs were all heartbreaking.

They got through half the album, most of the songs about revenge and laden with slightly disturbing imagery of torture, loss, and death. All three girls, but Hermione especially, were transfixed by that haunting, deep voice.

Suddenly, during a loud one called “Broken Constellation”, there came a loud banging at Hermione’s door. She realised too late that it was past curfew, and she was playing incredibly loud music. That voice had made her lose track of time.

Rushing to the door, she opened it to see Professor Snape standing there, a look in his eyes she had not seen since her fourth year.

“What the bloody Hell do you think you’re doing, Miss Granger?” he said, his voice deathly quiet. She saw he was gripping the wall with one hand, knuckles turning white. “It is after curfew, and these records are not allowed in school.” He peered around her. “Lovegood, back to your dorms. Ten points from Ravenclaw.” The little blonde scurried away. “Now, whose records are these?”

“Mine, sir,” Ginny said in a low voice. “They’re old, and my brother Bill thought it would be fun for me to listen to them, because I like music. I didn’t know they weren’t allowed, sir.”

“Five points from Gryffindor for breaking the rules, and another five for being out of your bed after curfew,” he snapped. “I will not confiscate them on the condition that you send them back to your brother first thing tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.” Ginny also scurried away, leaving Hermione alone with her Potions professor and temp Head Of House.

“ _ You _ , Miss Granger, should have known better. Ten points for behaving as if rules do not apply to you, and you have detention on Saturday night in my office. If I catch you with this record ever again, it will be detention until the end of term.” He stalked away from her, and she shut the door behind him, embarrassed.

She shut the turntable down, and wondered why her professor had mentioned this particular record? What was wrong with Wicked Elixir? On impulse, Hermione Duplicated the record and its sleeve with a simple  _ gemino  _ charm. She wanted to hear that voice again, sliding silkily in her ears. It was like fine wine, warming her from the inside out.

Feeling rebellious on Friday, after a very difficult double Potions lesson, Hermione went to her private room and pulled out the record, wanting that silken voice to carry her away from tests and stress.

She did not put the volume up, and therefore received no unwanted interruptions. A song towards the end of the record titled “The Red Sea” was surprisingly...sexual. Its brazen lyrics shocked Hermione. It was not as though she was a virgin, but she had not ever had a reaction like this to a man, and this was just a voice!

She felt her knickers were damp underneath her school skirt, and her heartbeat sped up. The man sang about a woman with wild red hair, much of it speculation and slightly voyeuristic in nature.

Hermione slid her hand under her skirt, tracing her fingers along the damp patch on the pink cotton of her panties. Moving them aside, she slid her fingertips along her wet opening, pushing her lower lips apart and holding back a moan at her own ministrations.

Slipping two fingers inside of her hole, she traced her thumb along her throbbing clit, moving in time to the voice of Wicked Elixir’s faceless vocalist. As the tempo sped up, she too increased her own pace, groaning when the song slowed back down, as if the wizard knew exactly what she was doing and wanted her to be denied pleasure...for now.

She slid a third finger inside of herself, feeling the pleasure-pain of being stretched open as she bit back her scream as orgasm ripped through her.

As she rode the wave of tingling pleasure, the record began to play not a song, but a spoken word poem. At the sound of the voice, speaking this time, Hermione got her head out of her bliss and realised that she knew this voice. Oh yes. She heard it every single day for ten months out of the year since she had turned eleven.

Scrambling off her bed, she reached for the album sleeve, finally wrenching the insert free and looking at the list of band members.

Lucius Malfoy, lead guitar/music

Alecto Carrow, bass

Amycus Carrow, drums

Narcissa Black, rhythm guitar

Severus Snape, vocals/piano/lyrics

Hermione stared at the band photo, particularly at the man standing dead center. Tall, fair-skinned, with blazing dark eyes and a smirk on his lips that promised dark pleasures to whomever he deemed worthy to take under his spell. His black hair was long, longer than Hermione’s was, and looked soft and silky. She could imagine pulling on it as that talented tongue went to work where her fingers had just been…

She fell back against the soft carpeting, her mouth agape, both at this discovery and the fact that she was actually thinking about fucking her professor. Indeed, she had been harboring romantic feelings for him for quite some time, having a secret punishment kink. She loved his brusque attitude, and as she got older had begun to imagine him ordering her about elsewhere, punishing her where appropriate but also rewarding her with mind-blowing orgasms. To top it off, she also had a voice kink, his dark tones always sending a shiver down her spine.

No wonder he had been so angry at her owning this album!

She replayed the spoken word, her hands once again going to touch her still-tingling pussy, picturing his cock between her legs as that dark voice whispered the most vile of things in her ear, all the while pounding her into oblivion right there on his desk.

 

****

 

What the Hell had just happened?

Severus Snape had just spend an agonising two hours in Potions class, trying to avoid looking at a certain know-it-all from Gryffindor. Ever since he had heard her playing Wicked Elixir in her room, he had been thrust back into those days, when the Death Eaters had been even more debauched than people thought.

He remembered needing an outlet for his anger, and he had begun writing poetry. Lucius had found it, declared it brilliant, and had enlisted the assistance of a few others to make music. Severus had a good voice, he knew, but he was painfully shy. Only after concocting a potion that lowered his inhibitions had he been able to record an album and play a few shows in the Wizarding community and Muggle as well.

That had been a wild year. He could recall band orgies on the bus and in hotel rooms, watching Narcissa ride Lucius while Malfoy had sucked him off, right before he had gone to fuck Narcissa right after.

Not to mention the Muggle women, the ‘groupies’. The late seventies had been brilliant for music, and rock bands were never in need of a bedmate. He recalled leaving more than a few Muggles exhausted and very nearly broken in hotel rooms. Not many women could handle the level of roughness he liked in bed, and being a Death Eater meant that he had been able to treat them the way he did without thinking twice about it. After all, it was not as if he had forced them. They had come to him of their own accord, having no idea what they were in for.

Seeing Hermione’s flushed face while his words were sung in the background had taken him back to those days, and he had the sudden urge to show the little Mudblood just what he used to be before he was her professor. He wondered how she’d look, bound by her red Gryffindor tie, bent over his desk as he fucked her till she couldn’t speak any longer.

He’d be lying to himself if he said he hadn't been having feelings for the little witch, ever since he woke up to her tenderly holding his hand in the hospital wing. Those feelings ran the gamut of tenderness to violence, as he pictured her alternately cuddled against him, and gagged with her own tie while he spanked her little arse red.

The entire class had been torture, and he admitted he had snapped at the poor girl more times than was necessary. He hated the way his emotions worked, how he pushed away anyone who ever cared about him. Just as he had done with Lily, before losing her forever. It had taken defeating Voldemort to get him to begin to let go of Lily’s memory. He would always love her. Indeed, he would never love another how he had loved Lily. But he was not obsessed as he had been, nor was he as bitter. He was finally healing.

Now he was starting to treat Hermione with the same coldness. But perhaps that was for the better: she was nineteen years his junior, and she was a student. Despite graduating soon, it did not change the fact that what he was thinking about her was highly inappropriate.

The thoughts did not abate, as he pictured her when he was younger, in the crowd at a show. He saw himself taking her back to the hotel, her pouty lips parting as she took him down to the root.

Groaning, making sure his office door was warded, he unbuttoned his trousers and took his already hard cock in hand, closing his eyes against the onslaught of sensation, not knowing that she was touching herself at the same moment, thinking of him.

 

****

 

Hermione had detention, and for once she was actually looking forward to it. The previous evening and indeed all day she had been picturing the most inappropriate things happening in that dungeon office. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so aroused as she did these past twenty-four hours.

Ron had been...well, he had been a terrible lover. Worse than she had expected. She had a funny feeling that Severus Snape would be the exact opposite...that is, if she could ever get him to look at her as anything but a know-it-all Gryffindor student.

She was an adult, just nineteen years old. Indeed, had it not been for Voldemort, she should have graduated Hogwarts already. This was just a formality. If only she could get her Potions Master to think that way!

She knocked on the dungeon door and was told to come in, those two words sliding into her ear like silk, making her shudder. Snape was at his desk, looking over papers from students and he glanced up, annoyed.

“Are you ever going to sit down, Miss Granger? Or will I have to force you?”

_ Bad choice of words, _ Hermione thought, blushing furiously as she sat at his desk, perched on the edge of the chair. “I am sorry, sir.”

He ignored her apology, giving her a stack of papers. “First years. Dare I tell you the atrocities these papers are? Do not be lenient, or I will make you do worse than grade essays for me tonight.”

“Is that a promise?” The words were out before Hermione could think, and she squeaked in embarrassment as the professor turned his dark eyes on her.  _ Ohshitohshitohshit _ , she thought, looking back into his obsidian gaze.  _ He’s knows Legilimency, he knows what I’m thinking! _

“What on Earth is that supposed to mean, Miss Granger?” he asked, his voice low. His eyes were piercing her, making her lose any train of thought she had been forming. “ _ Hmm _ ?” It was more of a purr than anything, and she shifted in her seat, more turned on than she had been.

“N-nothing, sir. I’m sorry,” she said, knowing she was not very convincing. She reached for a quill and nearly knocked over the inkwell.

Snape grabbed her wrist just in time, the contact with her skin causing more heat to pool between her legs.

“Clumsy girl,” he observed. “Is there a reason you are so nervous tonight, Miss Granger?” He did not let her wrist go. “Have you any reason to fear me?”

She shook her head, feeling his rough grip on her. Any more pressure, and she would bruise. Some dark, masochistic part of her brain wished he would bruise her, leave a mark on her more visible than the one on her heart was.

“No? Nothing about a record I specifically told you to get rid of? One of the elves told me you still had it after they cleaned your chambers yesterday,” he said, his voice even. No anger--or anything else--tinged it. “What would I find if I pressed even a bit into your mind, little girl? Pleasure at disobeying me?”

“No, sir,” she said, her throat dry. “I did not do it to disobey you. Perhaps you would prefer telling me why you were so insistent I get rid of the record?”  _ There. Let’s see how he responds to that, the secretive bastard. _

He arched an eyebrow. “So you know. Planning on telling on me? Make the others laugh at my expense?”

That surprised her. “No, sir,” she repeated. “That is not why I kept it. I do not plan on telling anyone, not even Ginny, and it was her record.”

His hand shifted on her wrist, and he was holding her so that the pad of his thumb pressed gently into the heel of her hand. “Your pulse is racing,” he mused. “Why did you disobey me?”

Hermione swallowed hard. “Because I loved your voice, sir. I did not know it was you at the time. I just knew I could not go till June before I listened to it again. It wasn’t until the spoken word ending that I realised  _ who  _ I was actually listening to.”

“And yet you still did not throw the record away,” he said. “Even when you knew it was the greasy git, the bat of the dungeons. Curious…”

Hermione saw the hurt in his eyes and said, “I was never the one who said such things about you, sir. Indeed, while I thought you were cruel, I never disliked you. I have always found you quite brilliant. ...And your voice, sir, it is beautiful. Indeed, I always thought so even when you simply spoke.”

He just stared at her, as if he were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I am sorry. I should never have said anything. I just…” Hermione shook her head, embarrassed and wishing he would let her go. His touch was maddening, driving heat straight to her core. “I could listen to you speak constantly.”

He let her go abruptly and she was not sure whether to be relieved or bereft. “Miss Granger. You should leave.”

“Excuse me?” Now she was confused.

“Detention is canceled. Get out.”

“Sir?” She stood up, but did not leave. “What did I do wrong?”

He glared up at her. “Looking at me like that, for a start.”

Hermione was beginning to see, and she could not quite believe it. Was her professor, the man she had pleasured herself over the previous night,  _ attracted  _ to her? No, of course not. He was in love with Lily Potter. It was silly to think that her fantasies could ever come true. This was not a Muggle porn film!

“Looking at you like what, sir?” she asked, her heartbeat increasing.

“Get out, Granger,” he said, his voice so low it was nearly a growl. Her already soaked knickers were even more damp at the tone he was taking.

She took a tentative step closer to the front of the desk, pressing herself against it and looking down at her scowling professor. “Professor, do you want to know why I really Duplicated that album? It was because I have never been so affected by a voice in all my life. I think, maybe, deep down I knew it was you. Those titles and lyrics...all about Potions and the Dark Arts.”

“Miss Granger, you are wading into very dangerous territory,” Snape said, warning laced in his voice.

She nodded. “I know, sir, and frankly I don’t care.”

“You are my student, Granger. You should care,” he said, standing up. He was so much taller than she was, he intimidated her easily, simply by standing.

“Sir...please.”

Unsure as to what she was begging him for, that one plaintive word seemed to break the professor’s self-control as he rounded the desk, pressing Hermione’s torso hard into the thick cherrywood edge. His front was flush against her back, and she felt heat emanating from his body, even through both of their robes.

“Are you sure this is what you want, Granger?” he asked, his breath tickling her ear. He pushed harder, and she knew she’d have a long bruise on her stomach the next morning. “Because I can guarantee you, the Weasley boy is  _ nothing  _ compared to what I plan to do to you, little girl.”

She whimpered at his words, more of a promise than a threat.

“I am giving you one last chance to leave and forget this ever happened, Granger. If you stay, you have to understand what you are getting yourself into,” he said, moving back enough to allow her room to leave.

As if she would run away now!

She felt his hand snake under her school skirt, brushing over the seat of her knickers and further, feeling the dampness that had not abated since the night before.

“Already soaked,” he said. “Just from the sound of my voice. Tell me, do you like it when I belittle you, when I call you names? When I order you about?”

She nodded, but then there was a sharp smack on her arse and she yelped.

“ _ Answer me _ ,” he growled, sending a new wave of fear and arousal to her core.

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Hm. Who would have thought you were a masochist,” he muttered. “Little Hermione Granger: prefect, Head Girl, ‘the most brilliant witch of her age’.” His tone was amused, almost mocking. “What would they all say if they knew you wanted to shag your professor on his desk where anyone could walk in?”

He  _ was  _ reading her mind, or rather, seeing the vivid images she was powerless to push away.

“I can see everything you want me to do to you,” he whispered, his breath on her ear, making her shiver. Large hands came around to settle on her hips, gently tugging the waistband of her skirt down till it pooled around her ankles. The cold air of the dungeons hitting her bare flesh made goosebumps rise on her skin. “How long have you been this depraved, Granger?”

She shook her head, earning her another slap, this one harder. “I am not sure, sir,” she said.

Severus reached around her, unknotting her tie and slipping it from her neck. “Turn around and remove your blouse. Now.”

With shaking hands, Hermione began to unbutton her white shirt, revealing her pale pink lace bra, which matched the panties he had revealed a moment ago.

He traced a calloused finger from her pouty lower lip, down her face, her neck, and ended at her cleavage, his touch more tender than she had expected. He bent down, his lips pressing against her neck, sucking the pale flesh and she moaned, causing him to sink his teeth in, leaving a bruise that would not soon abate.

He waved a hand and her bra flew off. She had no idea he could do wandless magic and felt suddenly over exposed in the cold office. Her nipples had already hardened into pink points, and she bit her lip against another moan as he cupped each breast in a hand and rubbed his thumbs across them, sending her nerve endings singing.

“What a debauched little slut you are,” he commented, taking one nipple and twisting it, and Hermione cried out in pain, feeling another wave of dampness come in her panties. Was it normal to feel aroused at such pain?

“Lay back on the desk,” Severus said, waving his hand again and the surface was cleared of all papers, quills, and trinkets.

Hermione complied, her legs dangling off the edge and not even reaching the floor. She heard the rustle of clothing and then saw that Snape had removed his frock coat, leaving him in an unbuttoned white shirt. His body was heavily scarred but he was not as thin as he had been when she’d known him. Being out of the service of the Dark Lord had gotten him much of his health back, and he indeed seemed much more vibrant than a forty-year-old man.

He smirked down at her and began to suck on one of her nipples, his tongue playing with it, swirling and flicking, bringing mews of pleasure from Hermione’s lips. Alternately, he was pinching and twisting the other, leaving her a near mess at the disparate sensations.

“So responsive. I am going to have a lot of fun with you, Granger,” he said, his voice deep with lust as he went to work on her other nipple, leaving love bites on each breast. His lips made their way down her torso, reaching the edge of her pink panties and making her breathing tense up at what she knew was coming.

In a second the cloth was gone, and she felt her professor’s warm breath ghosting across her puffy, wet pussy. He gently parted her with his fingers, caressing her folds and she sighed when one finger gently pressed at her entrance. She spread her legs wider for him.

She felt a hard slap across her wetness and she jumped, but he pressed her back down with a strong hand.

“That was for being such a wanton little whore,” he admonished. Quickly and roughly, he shoved two fingers inside of her, stretching her a little painfully. At her whimper, he said, “I do hope you’re not in pain just from this, little girl, because how on Earth will you be able to handle my cock?”

_ Oh fuck, I could die right now and I could say I died happy _ , she thought deliriously as he began to move his fingers inside of her.

She felt his tongue run along her folds, licking and tasting in strong, open-mouthed kisses, constantly avoiding her clit in a teasing manner. His tongue licked at her clit once, then twice, before she felt him suck it into his mouth, causing her to cry out his given name.

Moving away, but not removing his fingers, she felt a hard slap on her thigh. She was certain he left a handprint.

“You are to call me ‘sir’ at all times, are we clear, Granger?”

“Y-yes, sir,” she said meekly, her skin stinging.

He moved back and began to suck on her clit again, speeding up his tongue and fingers’ movements until Hermione felt herself crashing on the waves of pleasure that ripped through her body, much more intense than anything she had ever felt.

He stood up and she saw him wipe his mouth as he grinned down at her. If she had not just come, that look alone would have sent her over the edge.

“Get up,” he ordered and she stood before him. “I was unsure if I had wanted to use this to gag you or tie you up, but for once I like the sounds your mouth is making. Hands out, wrists together.” He held up her tie.

She was a little nervous, about to be helpless and at his mercy, but she did as she was told. Using his wand, he made a tight knot around her wrists, binding them together securely in a knot she was certain none but he could undo.

She watched as he slid his shirt from his shoulders and put it on the chair before going to work on his trousers. He was doing this manually instead of by magic to tease her, and it was working.

Finally his cock was free, not too large, but definitely bigger than Ron’s, or the dildo she had hidden away in her dorm.

“On your knees, slut,” he ordered.

Hermione sank to the hard stone floor, the cold seeping through her heated skin as she was now at eye-level with his leaking cock.

“Open wide, Granger.” She felt his hand grab her by the back of her hair, tugging her closer so that he was quickly halfway into her mouth. He held her still as he began to throat fuck her, fast and hard. She felt tears in her eyes as his tip brushed the back of her throat every few thrusts and she was afraid she’d choke.

He pulled almost all the way out, so that only the head was still in her mouth and she let her tongue run along the slit, tasting his salty precome. Without warning, he slammed back into her throat, and this time she did choke around him. She heard him chuckle as he watched, and indeed she felt even more aroused at this treatment.

_ What is wrong with me? _ she wondered as he yanked her to her feet. His hand was to tight on her arm, there would be more bruises there in the morning. Turning her, he had her face down on his desk, her arse in the air and her legs once again not reaching the floor.

“Stay still, or I can make this very...uncomfortable for you,” he warned and she heard whooshing air as something hard and flat smacked against her bare bottom, stinging like Hell. She screamed, more from shock than pain.

“What  _ was  _ that?” she asked, and was rewarded with only another lashing.

“Did I say you could speak?” Severus growled, pulling her hair so that her very scalp ached.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, her heartbeat racing.

“Better. And for your information, that’s a unicorn hair whip. I do like to keep... _ souvenirs _ from my wild youth,” he said.

This was what her deepest, darkest fantasies were made of, and Hermione could not remember ever being so turned on by anything as much as she was by the knowledge that her professor was about to whip her across his office desk while she was bound and helpless.

He sent the whip cracking on her arse and her back. She had no idea if he was drawing blood or not, and didn’t care. She wanted to be marked by this night, she wanted to be certain to never forget it, since there was obviously never going to be a repeat performance.

He put his hand on her leg and moved them further apart, as he sent one hard whip on her now dripping pussy and her shriek nearly echoed in the vaulted ceiling. Hearing her vocal response, he did it a ew more times, hitting her clit directly until she was coming again, the sensation sending shivers through her body.

She was gasping as she came down from that high, and she felt his hands on her hips, gently rubbing every spot he had whipped. Such soft caresses surprised her, but she was not about to ask him to stop: his hands felt so good.

His voice close to her ear he said, “Never let it be said that I am not a good master when my little girl has been so good for me.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped and she felt her heart race again, but for a very different emotion than fear.

Kicking her legs as far apart as they would go, Hermione felt his rock hard erection rubbing against her folds, teasing her. In one swift movement, he was completely inside of her and she cried out at the sudden burn of her hole being stretched further than ever before.

“Oh fuck!” she cried, earning another amused chuckle from her professor.

“How does it feel to have me inside of you?” Severus asked, his voice low and silky in her ears. “Do you like being filled by me, while you lay here, helpless?”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

He slowly pulled out and slammed back in, making her back arch as she groaned. “Do you like being my little slut, Hermione?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied. He used my name again!

After that there was little talking, as he began a steady assault on her pussy, thrusting into her tight warmth so hard the desk was shaking.

She felt her juices coat his cock, making it burn less and less with each stroke. She arched her back, giving him easier access and he spanked her again, while one hand held her hip.

It was an endless night, or so it seemed, the pain of her still stinging back mixing with the wonderful pleasure of his cock claiming her making her unable to tell how long she had been in the dungeon.

Hermione could feel her third orgasm building in her, and he must have felt it as well. He gripped her hair, pulling her to a different angle, hitting just the right spot each thrust.

“Sir, I’m so close,” she gasped.

“Beg for it, slut,” he growled. “Beg, or I won’t let you come. I’ll come in your pretty little mouth instead.” He thrust so hard she saw stars.

“Oh fuck--sir, please, please let me come!” she cried.

He let go of her hair and she felt his fingers on her swollen clit, moving in time with his thrusts and she was coming around him. She felt herself tightening, squeezing his cock like a vise. A few short thrusts later, he was coming deep inside of her, claiming her.

They were both breathing hard as she slowly pulled his softening cock out of her. She hissed in pain and the sudden feeling of emptiness. As she was coming down from her high, she felt how thoroughly exhausted and sore she was.

He came across the desk--already dressed by magic--and flicked his wand to undo her bonds. She stood up, rubbing her wrists, and suddenly very conscious of what had just happened as Severus sat in his chair, smirking at her.

“If you could see yourself now, Hermione,” he commented. “From golden girl to Severus Snape’s little tart.”

She certainly did like the sound of that. Using her wand, she dressed herself, but noticed that her panties had not come back on her body. She glanced down where she thought he’d sent them when he cleared his throat. She looked up at him and saw he was dangling them from one finger.

“Looking for something?” He waved his hand and they disappeared. “If you want them, you’ll have to come back to get them tomorrow night. Same time.”

Hermione blushed. “You...want to do this again, sir?”

He grinned and licked his lips. “Oh, Hermione, I am not nearly done with you yet.”

 

****

 

“Hermione! That was such a lovely service,” Ginny said, beaming at her friend.

“Thank you,” Hermione replied, wishing she could yank this flimsy veil off of her head, but her new husband had ordered her to keep wearing it until they got to their hotel in Paris. SHe looked around the reception (at Hogwarts over the summer, thanks to Minerva McGonagall) and spotted him, smirking darkly as he was talking to Ron Weasley. Hermione bet she knew exactly what he was implying to her ex.

She walked over and took his hand, surprised that he let her.

“Hi, Ron,” she said brightly. “Love, the reception is about to wrap up.”

“Excellent,” Severus said, his voice a deep purr. Glancing at Ron he added, “Because I cannot wait to get you to that hotel and fuck you wearing only that veil.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continued sordid tales of Hermione's special "lessons" with Severus for the five months she remains at Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wanted to write a fluffy second chapter to wrap things up and bridge the gap between the time in chapter one. Instead, it turned into this smutty mess haha.  
> One more chapter is coming. For now, please enjoy your sexy professor...
> 
> This chapter got very explicit, as the new tags show. Gags, choking, breathplay, bloodplay, and more. Some more sensitive readers might not enjoy this, so just a warning. BDSM is not for everyone, I know.

_Run away with my heart_   
_Run away with my hope_   
_Run away with my loveI know now, just quite how_   
_My life and love might still go on_   
_In your heart, in your mind, I'll stay with you for all of time_

 

Once the man she had still called Professor had finished thoroughly abusing her, he had held her pink panties hostage and demanded that she return the next evening to get them back.

She decided that night to not wear any panties whatsoever, since he seemed intent on confiscating them. She paid good money for those at a Muggle lingerie shop, after all. Hermione felt a shiver as she knocked on the door to Snape’s office, and waited for him to tell her to enter.

Taking a breath, she opened the heavy door and spied her professor and ill-advised lover standing in front of his desk, smirking at her. She loved that smirk: it sent lightning bolts of heat straight to her core every time he flashed it.

“Good evening, Miss Granger,” he said, his smooth voice low.

“Good evening, Professor.” Hermione was nervous, unsure of what to do or how to behave now. Last night she had plunged headfirst into the unknown, taking a huge Gryffindor risk. Now she felt more like a kitten in the lair of a snake as the Head of Slytherin eyed her as if she were fresh prey. “You...asked to see me again?”

He chuckled. “Not so brave anymore, are we, little girl? Now that you know just a little of what I am capable, are you so apprehensive?”

“I do not like feeling at a disadvantage sir, and I am a bit embarrassed with my own actions last night,” she admitted.

“Oh? What’s to be ashamed of? The fact that you laid across my desk and let me spank you? Whip you into submission? Or are you ashamed that you got off on the abuse?” he asked, crossing his arms across his broad chest.

“The last one, sir,” she said, relieved to be able to admit it. It did not seem right to get off on being whipped. It seemed immoral to her.

“Oh, pet, you have much to learn. Come here.” He pointed to right in front of him, and his tone brooked no arguments.

She did as he asked and came to stand before him imposing form. She looked up into those dark pools and saw an amused glint there.

“I can assume you have no idea that BDSM culture exists, do you?”

She shook her head no.

“What it is, is exactly what we did last night. Two consenting adults: one who gets off giving pain and being in total control over the other. And the second one gets off on being abused and controlled. It is rather normal, though many people find it abhorrent. Muggles invented it, but us wizards...perfected it.

“There is no shame in enjoying pain, Hermione. None at all. And if it is done with a proper Master, you have much to look forward to.”

Hermione felt a shiver down her spine at what he was hinting at. “Are you suggesting…that you and I…”

Severus scoffed. “For the most brilliant girl at Hogwarts, you are slow on the uptake, Granger. I am saying that for the next five months before your NEWTs, you take an hour out of your studying and I will teach you much more...intimate lessons.” His smirk widened, and Hermione felt as if she would melt under his gaze. “You can choose how far we go, how far you are willing to attempt to go. You can choose when we stop. What do you say, pet?”

Hermione sighed, her brain in a jumble. “When do we start, Master?”

“Good girl. Take off your blouse and bra. Go and sit in that chair.” He pointed to one of the visitor’s chairs, which were wide and had a curved back.

Doing as she said, she sat with her back pressing against the black leather of the chair, her legs parted.

Severus walked in front of her and said, “No panties, Granger? Why?”

“You took my last pair, sir, and I did not want to lose another,” she replied.

“Cheeky little slut.” He reached for her and roughly grabbed a hunk of her hair, tilting her head up at him. “I can keep whatever of yours I’d like. When you are in this room, you are  _ mine _ , little witch.” He let her go, and she felt her heart racing.

She watched him go into his desk and he pulled out leather straps. Using his wand, he sent them to attach to the arms of the chair, wrapping around her wrists.

“I can trust you to keep those legs spread without restraints?” She nodded. “Good. I have papers to grade that we ignored last night.”

_ What? _

He chuckled. “The look on your face is priceless. However, I like entertainment when I work, and rarely do I ever get any.” He reached back into his desk and brought over that looked like a red snitch without wings, attached to two leather strips.

“What is that, sir?” Hermione asked, nervous.

“Nothing magical. It is called a ball gag, Granger. Open wide.” He shoved the red ball into her mouth and fastened the strap behind her head. Her mouth was now suspended open until he decided to remove the gag.

Her breathing and heart rate increased rapidly at the thought of anyone walking in and finding her like this.

Severus reached down and flipped her skirt up over her waist. He gave her already soaking wet pussy a resounding slap, and she groaned around the gag. “Already so wet. What a good little pet you are. Now for the fun part.” He took out his wand and whispered a spell,  _ Volvebatur _ . She heard the wand give out a distinct buzzing sound as it vibrated in the professor’s hand.

He quickly stuck the first few inches of the vibrating wand inside her hole, and she felt the vibrations in her very core. She wanted to cry out, but the gag prevented that. Turning, he went and sat down behind his desk and took out his quill.

_ I can't believe he’s intent on grading papers while I’m trapped here like this _ , Hermione thought.  _ What the bloody fuck? _

He smirked at her from over the desk glancing up from his grading every few moments to watch her undoing. She was helpless, bound and gagged while his wand fucked her at such a slow and maddening pace, it would take forever for her to reach completion.

After what felt like ages but was barely twenty minutes, Hermione was a writhing mess, her juices steadily leaking from her pussy and dripping down her thighs and onto the chair. She was whining around the gag, desperately needing to come but unable to.

She watched Severus put the quill away and stand up, undoing his trousers as he walked over to her side of the desk. Leaning against it, he took out his already hard cock and began to stroke it lazily, teasing her.

“Aren’t you a debauched little whore, Granger. I bet you’re dying to come. Just look at you: mascara running, drool on your chin, mouth wrapped around that gag, and your juices soaking my good chair.” He sighed. “My fault. I should have known better than to use leather.” He stroked his cock faster. “I love having you like this: unable to move or speak, completely at my mercy. My little wanting slut, your wet cunt just begging for me to shove my cock in and fuck you till you can't recall your own name.”

Hermione moaned again at his words. Who would have thought he could be so debauched?

Suddenly, his wand was removed from her pussy, leaving her dripping and even more desperate for contact. He Scourgified it, and then flicked it, removing the ball gag.

Hermione gasped and gingerly closed her now aching jaw. “Merlin, sir, please. Master, I need relief.”

He smirked again. “Tell me what you need from me. Beg me, slut.”

“Please, Master, make me come. I need your cock, sir, please!”

The second she said that, he leaned over at a precarious angle and shoved himself into her and she cried out, mixing pain and pleasure as he yanked her hair and dug his teeth into her shoulder. She felt him break the skin and she cried out, his cock pumping into her at a rough, unsteady pace.

“Come for me, Hermione,” he rasped in her ear and she let go, her release squeezing his cock and milking his come from him.

After he’d cleaned them both, he undid her wrists from their confines, gently massaging them to get the blood flowing again. Another wave of his wand and she was dressed...minus her bra.

“Keeping that, too?” she asked him.

He just smiled and dismissed her.

This went on for five months. Not every night, because many nights he had to give actual detention to troublemakers, grade papers, and make lesson plans, not to mention she had to study.

For the first three months of their tryst, Hermione became very well acquainted with the chairs, desk, and rough stone walls of the professor’s office. She did things she had never imagined she’d do, and had things done to her that would have scarred anyone else for life.

Wax play, nipple clamps, clothespins on her most sensitive areas, repeated whippings, forced to come sometimes six times in an hour (by the professor’s wand, hands, tongue, and cock), her breasts had been pierced with tiny needles (she drew the line when he suggested putting them somewhere else, and he respected that), and she had been forced to wear gags, blindfolds, and a leash.

One memorable night consisted of her kneeling before him on the cold, stone floor, leashed, with a ring gag in her mouth as he fucked her throat repeatedly, while his wand slowly vibrated in her pussy. It had been an hour of agony on her knees and throat, but he had rewarded her with an orgasm from his lips and tongue that she had never experienced before.

By the time the fourth month began, they had gotten into an easy routine...well, easy until he brought out his toys, many of which he enhanced with magic.

“Good evening, sir,” Hermione greeted. “Where would you like me tonight?”

“Not here,” he replied. “Come.” She followed him to  a doorway she had not realised was there and he performed a Charm to open it. The door swung inward, revealing a spacious room. “ _ Incendio _ ,” he said, lighting the fireplace and candles around the room, making it glow with warmth. She felt it suffuse the cold, damp room and she could now see that she was in hs chambers.

There was a sitting area before the fireplace, with a small sofa and two armchairs. THe mantle was adorned with what were probably deactivated Dark Arts artifacts and a single framed photograph: two small children. One was a little girl with bright red hair and familiar green eyes, and the other was a sallow boy with black hair and black eyes. Next to the fireplace was a stuffed bookcase.

Turning, she saw a large, four-poster bed. It was covered in black silk sheets with green and silver accent pillows. A Slytherin Quidditch banner adorned one wall, and on the other hung a creepy mask that doctors had worn during the Plague.

There was a closet and bathroom, and along the wall opposite the bed was a locked armoire.

“What are you staring at, Granger? Did you expect I slept in a coffin, perhaps, or hung upside down like a bat?” Severus asked sarcastically.

“No, sir,” Hermione said. “Sir, why are we in here? We’ve never done this before.”

He removed his cloak and took hers off for her and laid them on a chair. “The things I want to do with you now would be better performed in a more comfortable environment. Strip, pet, and get in the middle of the bed, head leaned back on the pillows.”

Hermione did as he asked, her aching body unused to the softness and luxury of the bed. She watched as he undressed as well, taking in the rare sight of his manliness. He was no longer thin, but filled out and broad-shouldered. He had light black hair on his chest, and a long trail leading down to his already half-hard cock. He was covered in old scars, the worst of which was the one that was being left as his Dark Mark was slowly disappearing.

He unlocked and removed the wards from the armoire and Hermione saw that he had enough instruments of sexual torture inside to satisfy an entire brothel. Fear settled in her chest and soaked her pussy at the same time.

He smiled at the sight of her widened eyes. “Do not fear, little girl. These are not as formidable as they seem. Now...I’ll let you choose: the physical manifestation of the Body-Bind Curse, or leather straps?”

“Body Bind Curse?” Hermione repeated.

He reached into the small closet and held up black horsehair ropes in intricate loops and knots. “Rope play.”

She nodded, wanting to try something new.

Severus snapped his fingers and with a silent, wandless spell, Hermione found herself wrapped in many feet of rope, tying her arms behind her, her legs to the posts of the bed, and crisscrossing her entire body. They squeezed around each breast, slightly cutting off circulation, and around her throat. She was unable to move with the exception of arching her back. There as even a rope in her mouth, gagging her.

“How nice. A little slut, all tied up like a present for me,” he drawled. On the edge of the bed, he laid the needles he liked to use on her breasts, a flat leather paddle, and a tiny thing that she knew was his own sexual invention: it clung to the clit and prevented female orgasm.

He placed the little metal device on her clit first, and then slowly inserted the needles into her soft breasts, which were getting darker as the blood was cut off. It intensified the sensation of the stabbing needles.

It was then he turned her over, pressing the pinpricks in deeper and she cried out around her bounds, feeling her pussy dripping onto the goose-down duvet. He started paddling her arse, so rough were his strokes that they resounded off of the walls and high ceiling. Had she not been gagged, her cries would have wakened the whole castle.

Abruptly, he stopped and she felt his hand caressing her skin. His breath tickled her ear and he asked, “Are you okay?” He did not check on her often, but only on risque things they had never tried before. His hand was in her hair, and his touch was so gentle it was as if he was an entirely different person than the one he had been a moment before.

She nodded, not talking around the gag and the rope around her throat. So far, Severus had not pushed her too far. He had broken her limits, but he had never pushed her over them.

Severus then flipped her onto her back, letting her breathe easier. She also preferred it when she could see him, the set of his jaw and the dark look in his eyes as he controlled her.

He began to paddle her breasts, which resembled red pincushions, but much lighter than her arse and back. He paddled her thighs, and then her throbbing clit got the abuse.

Hermione writhed as well as she could, wishing he would fuck her and give her the release she craved.

He smirked down at her, trailing his fingers over her swollen cunt. “You’ve been a very patient girl tonight, Hermione.” He snapped his fingers, and the needles were Vanished away, little red pinpricks marking her purpling flesh and areola where they had just been. A little trickle of blood leaked from some of them, and he licked it away, making her moan again at the sight of her blood on his tongue.

He reached down and removed the rope that gagged her and raised his wand, casting  _ Muffliato  _ on the room. Hermione knew she was very vocal after having that device on her clit.

As soon as it was removed, his cock invaded her, pounding relentlessly. The bed was sturdy mahogany and silver, probably weighed more than ten Hermiones would, but they managed to shake it, the headboard whacking against the wall so hard paint was coming off of it.

Hermione’s lips let out a stream of pleas and curses, words she hadn't even realised she knew until this night. Severus grinned over her, pulling the rope around her neck just a fraction tighter, and she came, her cries tapering off into whimpers as he released himself inside of her.

With a wave of his wand, the ropes were gone and Hermione could move freely again. She watched through heavily lidded eyes as he went to his cupboard and returned to the bed, kneeling beside her as he dripped the contents of a potion bottle onto his hands and began rubbing it into her wounded breasts.

It felt like Heaven and Hermione sighed, relaxing back into his pillows as he healed her wounds with his magic.

Once he was done with her breasts, he rubbed a bit of it to the slightly bloody abrasions the rope had left on her throat, making them disappear as if she had never had them.

“Good as new,” he said.

He did not always heal her. Her wrists were kept with the bruises from his restraints, his handprints and fingerprints adorned her appendages, as did his bite marks. Sometimes the wounds that he did not personally make were garish, and he always made sure she was healed before she left his office.

“How do you feel?’ he asked her.

“Like I could sleep for a week. Thank you, sir,” she said, her voice soft and a bit hoarse.

He smirked, obviously proud of his work. “There’s Floo Powder on the mantle. You can go straight to your chambers without even bothering to get dressed.”

Hermione felt a traitorous stab of regret. She had been assuming she’d stay there for the night. How childish of her! Not only would it be impossible for her to leave come morning, this was not any sort of relationship. This was just another lesson, albeit from a different type of Master other than Potions. This was not personal: it was about pain and relief.

She climbed out of the comfortable bed and went to the mantle, gathering her clothes in the process. She turned, glancing back at Severus. He was reclining against the pillows, his hair mussed and body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He was not a typically handsome man at all, but like this he was positively beautiful to Hermione.

“Goodnight, sir,” she said.

“Goodnight, Hermione. Same time tomorrow.”

From then on, every “lesson” took place in his private chambers. He’d strap her to the chairs and watch as his vibrating wand fucked her for an hour before he let her come, he suspended her from the bedposts with a spell and ropes while he fucked all three of her holes, and much more.

NEWTs were fast approaching, and Severus then put a stop to their “lessons”.

“But why, sir?” Hermione asked, hating herself for the tremor in her voice.

“Because you need to study. Just for this week, and then we have another week before you leave here. I am your professor, Hermione. Your education is more important to me than whether or not you’ve been properly fucked,” he said.

The week they were apart, Hermione was able to think a bit more about what they had been doing for all these months. What had started out of a mutual attraction to alternative sex practices and mere physicality had turned into so much more for Hermione. Despite her superior intellect, her heart was as average as the next girl’s. While she loved the way he treated her while they were having sex, the complete control he had over her, she had come to look forward to the aftercare he gave her. His tender touches, his murmured words of approval, they were what she cherished. The sex was explosive, and alternately his treatment afterwards was peaceful.

She had fallen hopelessly in love with Severus Snape and she had no idea how it happened. All she knew was that she needed to quash these feelings immediately before they got out of hand. She was leaving Hogwarts forever, and thus leaving Severus’ presence. They were not a couple, nor would they ever be, and she needed to accept that.

On her way to acceptance, it seemed only natural that she shed a few tears on her pillows late at night, when all she could think about was never seeing him again.

The final week of school, seventh years had very little to do, which meant she had more time to lounge around while Severus taught the other classes. She dreaded leaving, dreaded graduation. For once, her future seemed bleak, because Severus would not be in in.

The week flew by, and it was her last night at Hogwarts as she went to Severus’ office for her final lesson.

He let her into his chambers with nary a greeting. He seemed a bit out of sorts, and she wondered why.

“Your last night,” he said, voice low. “How does it feel to be a Hogwarts graduate?”

“I am not one yet, sir,” she replied. “Not for another fourteen hours, anyway.”

He did not respond. He stepped up behind her and she felt his hands removing her robes and blouse till they reached bare skin. He did not pinch, slap, or bruise. He simply touched, as if memorising the very feel of her skin under his hands.

“Dealer’s choice tonight, Hermione,” he said, his face in her hair. “Tell me what you want me to do to you and I will do it.”

She took a breath as she felt his tongue lick her neck and leaned back into him.

“Actually, sir, I had been wondering...since this is my last night...I don’t want anything. No toys, no restraints. Can it just be you and I? Please, sir? Be as rough as you want--I prefer it--but I do not want anything artificial, or any magic. Just you.”

He responded by turning her around to face him, bare skin brushing his usual woolen frock coat. He reached behind her and unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the floor.

“No lingerie at all? You are my naughty little girl,” he said, hands running over her arse.

Hermione touched the buttons on his coat and said, “May I?”

He nodded, and she began to remove his clothes, slowly revealing him to her for one last time. The coat as gone, and then the white shirt. His trousers followed, leaving him in black pants. Hermione went to her knees and slid them down his legs, taking his half hard cock in her mouth.

His hands went to her hair, pulling it tightly as he held her still and started fucking her throat as he had done so many times. She barely choked anymore and he was able to use her as his own masturbation tool as often and as long as he wanted.

He pulled out from her throat and said, “On the bed, head down and arse up.” He smacked her arse as she walked away and did as he told her.

His bed was a comfortable, familiar place after two months. She loved being here, with him. She was confident she was the only woman who had ever been here, and she was touched that he trusted her enough to bring her into his private domain.

She felt the bed dip as he got on it, positioning himself behind her. She felt his long fingers trace her already soaked entrance before he slipped two of them inside of her, stroking her walls and then inserting a third finger.

Hermione arched her back, giving him better access. His slap across her cheeks made her yelp.

“Wanton thing. You’re really begging for it tonight. Too bad, because I plan to draw this out for as long as possible,” he said, spanking her in earnest, while his other hand was assaulting her hole. He removed his fingers and spanked her pussy, something she really loved.

She cried out, encouraging him as she felt his talented tongue trace her lower lips, along her labia, teasing her hole and then wrapping around her clit, sucking and kissing until she was coming undone beneath him, gripping his sheets tightly.

“You taste so sweet, little girl,” he growled. She felt his fingers coat in her juices as he traced her arsehole with them, slipping one and then a second inside of her, fingering her arse as he reached around to grab one of her breasts, twisting the nipple so hard she screamed.

Abruptly, he turned her around, onto her back, and began biting and sucking on both of her nipples alternately, making them red and raw. He blew on them and slapped them, the sensations intensified.

“Are you ready?’ he asked her, eyes glowing in the candlelight. She nodded and he entered her, going agonisingly slowly until he was fully seated in her warmth. “Remember, hands to yourself, Hermione, and don’t you dare come until I tell you to.”

He began to thrust, slowly and then picking up speed, his ruthless rhythm shaking the bed and she felt as if his cock would break her. He had never had sex with her without employing some kind of magic or toy, and this felt wonderful.

His hand came around her throat, squeezing ever so slightly as he increased pressure as he called her every name under the sun. Her juices drenched the sheet below her as he slapped her breasts and fucked her into the mattress.

“Master, please,” she begged, hands twisted in the sheets. They were ready to tear.

He released her throat and his hands buried themselves in her unruly hair and tugged hard so that tears came in her eyes.

“You are no longer my student. Give me my name, Hermione. Ask me if you can come,” he ordered her, thrusting hard and settling himself deep inside of her.

“Oh,  _ Merlin _ ! ...Severus, please,  _ please  _ let me come!” It felt so good to use his name, as she had been calling him by it ever since their first encounter.

His face buried in her shoulder for a moment, and then he bit down on her earlobe, eliciting another delicious cry from her. “Come for me, Hermione.”

She came with a scream of his name and he followed her over the edge a moment later.

Hermione lay flat, releasing his sheets from her death grip as she felt him pull out of her, his come slowly leaking from her pussy. She knew she needed to move, to go back to her room, but she was too exhausted at the moment. She hoped he understood.

She felt him settle his body next to hers, and she opened her eyes in shock as she felt his arms come around her, one on her waist and another on her head. He turned her body towards him and pressed her head between his neck and shoulder.

She took a breath, smelling sweat, ink, and something that was distinctly  _ Severus _ . Spice, musk, and vanilla. She put her arms around him, burrowing her head deeper as he started to caress her, rubbing where he’d spanked and massaging her achy scalp.

“I am sorry, Hermione.”

She moved away to look up at him, and his expression was dark, inward. “For what?”

“How I treated you. For so long, I called you names, teased you. I was terrible. Can you ever forgive me?” he asked.

Hermione reached up and put her hand on his face, her thumb rubbing his cheekbone. Her other hand gently traced over the scar on his throat. “There is nothing to forgive. The only time it ever really hurt was fourth year, the comment about my teeth. Everything else rolled off my back, or was true anyway.

“Severus, you helped save us all. And these past months...you have given me so much. The past is the past, and I have no intention of revisiting it.” And with that being said, she reached up and did the one thing she had never done before with her professor: she kissed him.

All they had done, they had never kissed, and if this was going to be her last chance to do so, she wanted to taste him. He was still, shocked, she supposed, but then he took control as he had always done with her and tilted her head back, opening her lips with his own as his tongue plundered her mouth, her face, and her neck.

They could have kissed for an hour or a year, Hermione had no idea. However, when they stopped she knew she had to leave. She hated it when he had to ask her to go. As she began to leave his embrace, he tightened his arms around her and whispered one word, “Stay.” So she stayed.

 

****

 

Waking up with Severus should have been wonderful, but all it did was make her want to weep. She was leaving. She was going to get her NEWT scores and then she would never see him again.

He kissed her when he woke, gentler than she had ever expected from him. “I have enjoyed this time with you, Hermione.”

_ Then don't let it end _ , she thought, but did not say. “So have I,” she said.

He got out of bed languidly, cleaning them both with Scourgify. Once they were both dressed, he took her hands in his and said, “You are a brilliant woman. Go out there and take the world by storm. Make sure you find a Master who appreciates what a good girl you are.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. How she would miss him!

He gave her one last, lingering kiss before she left for her chambers, to bring her trunks down to the main hall. Her eyes were on him all through the graduation ceremony (where she received all ‘Outstanding’ grades, of course), and her heart wept as every second brought her close to saying goodbye to him forever.

“What’s the matter, ’Mione?” Ginny asked. “This is graduation! You could at least  _ try  _ to cheer up!”

“Sorry,” Hermione said, not even trying to cheer up.

As they graduating class filed out of Hogwarts, she cast one last look at Severus Snape, who was watching her as well. She cried on the train ride to King’s Cross, and she cried on the taxi ride all the way to her new flat in Muggle London, not far from Diagon Alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! Angst and extra fluffy fluff coming soon to wrap this up!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's life after leaving Hogwarts (and Severus). Will a friend's wedding bring relief to her broken heart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Thank you all for reading. xoxo

FIVE YEARS LATER

 

_ There a good kind of pain _

_ And insane kinda sane  _

_ when I'm around you _

_ There a chill in the heat _

_ Feel the sky at my feet 'cause I adore you _

_ I can't ignore you _

_ I'm not ill I don't need to _

_ Take a pill to fix what you do _

_ Cure can come through _

_ 'cause baby all I do is suffer from _

_ The symptoms of you _

 

Hermione Granger was sitting in the comfortable warmth of her bedchambers before a roaring fire. It was late in the evening, but her husband had been called away to deal with a couple of wayward Gryffindors. As their Head Of House, Hermione probably should have gone and dealt with them herself, but these were repeat offenders, and that warranted the attention of the Headmaster, not just a teacher.

She had originally planned, when she was seventeen, to become a Ministry worker, but three things happened that made her change her mind and become a professor at Hogwarts: the position she wanted became unavailable, Minerva McGonagall fell ill due to lingering effects from the war and had to retire, and she married the man who was about to become Headmaster, Severus Snape, which left Gryffindor without a Potions professor. She leaned back against the pillows, looking at their framed wedding photograph. Had someone told her, the day she entered Hogwarts for her final year, that she would end up back here as Professor Snape (yes, she changed her name, her love for Severus winning out over her feminist ideals), she would have laughed herself into tears.

Closing her eyes, she thought about just how she ended up here, the events that followed her graduation from Hogwarts and departure from the presence of Severus Snape..

 

****

 

Hermione decided to not return her parents’ memories to them. They were happy, there in Australia, and besides, they would not be returning to the daughter they had before. She was different, she had seen war and death, and alternately she had known love and pleasure. Her world was still no place for them.

She had secured the trust fund they had set up for her, bought a flat in London, and immediately sent the Minister of Magic (Kingsley Shacklebolt) her application papers for apprenticeship in the Department Of The Proper Treatment Of Magical Creatures. All within a day of leaving the school. She needed to keep busy, or else she’d start thinking about Severus Snape. She refused to think about Severus Snape.

Before a week had passed, Hermione received an owl from Ron, asking her to meet him for drinks in the Leaky Cauldron. “Now that school is over for you, maybe we can try again,” he had written.

Hermione sighed. Ron was no Severus, but he cared for her, and maybe they would work something out. She was sure, with some teaching, he could give her some of the pleasure that Severus had. After all, she had cared for him once, so the emotional connection was already there.

She found Ron sitting in a booth, nursing what looked like his second tumbler of Firewhiskey and grinning like a fool.

“Hi, Ronald,” Hermione said, sliding across from him. “How’s being an Auror?”

“Cme on, ’Mione,” he said, grinning. “You can do better than small talk, can't you?”

She shook her head. “It’s not small talk: I’m genuinely interested. Especially since I’m going to be in the Ministry too, in January.”

His eyes lit up. “You put in your application? That’s great! We’ll see each other every day then, and Harry, too.”

They talked about how he and Harry had been doing, about Harry and Ginny’s upcoming wedding (on Harry’s birthday; Ginny said he’d never forget their anniversary that way), and what she hoped to accomplish in the Ministry. It was an easy conversation, but there was little spark there. Nothing Ron said or did, consciously or otherwise, gave her that thrill that just one glance from Severus did. She supposed that no one would ever make her feel as he had, and she had better get used to it or she’d be an old maid with more cats than just Crookshanks.

“So, how was Hogwarts? Who won the cup? Did you join the Slug Club?” Ron asked.

“Gryffindor won. That’s how Ginny got her audition for the Holyhead Harpies, a scout was in the audience when she made a record twelve goals in one match. And there was no Slug Club this year because Slughorn went back into retirement,” she said.

“Then who was the new Potions Master...or Mistress,” he added hastily.

Hermione smiled into her glass of white wine, remembering how her heart had soared when she saw Severus walk into that classroom on the first day. “He wasn’t new, Ronald.”

It took him a moment and it dawned on him. “They let Snape back in the school? After all he did when he was Headmaster?”

“You mean after he protected your sister by sending her to Hagrid when she got in trouble, and didn’t send emissaries after her when she never returned from Christmas holiday? Or how about when he risked his life working with Voldemort as as double agent, letting his good standing go down the toilet, all to protect Harry? I think, after  _ all that he did _ , he should have been rewarded with more than an Order Of Merlin!” Hermione knew she was too loud, too defencive. She had sworn to never tell what she and Severus had done, but she was betraying her emotions by defending him so harshly. Thankfully, Ron noticed about as little as Harry did when it came to emotion.

“Okay, don’t bite my head off,” he said. “Change of subject: Ginny said she thought you had a secret tryst with someone. You’d be gone for an hour almost every day and no one knew where you went.” He grinned. “Come on, tell me. I won’t get jealous.”

As if you have anything to be jealous of, Hermione thought angrily. I was not with you then, you imbecile.

“It was...exactly that. A tryst. No emotions. He and I explored things, sexually. Things I never even knew I wanted. I learned a lot about myself and what I want,” Hermione explained.

“Who was it?” Ron asked.

“That’s none of your business, Ronald,” Hermione said calmly. “But it brings up something I want to talk to you about, if we do continue to try and be a couple again.”

Ron’s eyes sparkled. “So you are willing?”

“Yes. If we’re compatible in what we want and need. You see, what I learned about myself was why I didn't enjoy sex before. I like things that...not everyone else does. And the man I was with helped me realise that what I need is totally normal and I should find a man who can give me that and enjoy it as well.”

“What is it?” Ron asked. “Group sex? Roleplay?”

She shook her head. “BDSM.”

Ron, already fairly pale, went white. “What? You mean, those people who get chained up and beaten? Hermione, are you nuts?”

“Lower your voice!” she hissed. “And don't talk about it like it’s shameful. It’s consensual, and I enjoy it. There’s so much to it. It’s about control, release, and trust.”

Ron was shaking his head. “No way. You will never get me to do that in a million years. I never knew you were so twisted.”

Hermione stood up and, not caring if she made a scene or not, threw the rest of her wine in Ron’s face. “The next time you call me twisted, or anything else derogatory, I’ll hex your bollocks into oblivion!” Turning on her heel, she left the pub and stood outside, eyes clenched shut, hoping Ron would not come and follow her.

She heard a chuckle, and some hopeless romantic part of her heart leapt, wondering if it was Severus. It was not. Turning, she saw a familiar blonde grinning at her.

“I waited for years before you finally let rip on him,” Draco said.

“Oh. He deserved it,” Hermione replied.

Draco nodded. “I also heard that you’re in need of a Master, Granger.”

Hermione took a step back. As much as Draco attracted her, she had no interest in giving him her trust like she had given it to Severus. “No offence, Malfoy, but if you’re offering, you can fuck off, too.”

He laughed. “Gods no, Granger. I’m just like you: a sub looking for a Master, and since the particular one I want isn’t interested in me now that he’s got that ginger tart, I take my pleasures elsewhere.” He slipped a business card into her hand. “Private BDSM club. Monthly fee--reasonable--and you can choose a dom to pleasure you exactly as you like it. No strings.” He started to walk away. “Give it a try. It might be helpful till you find the right Master.”

Hermione glanced down at the card. “The Dragon’s Den”. It was located in Knockturn Alley, not far from where she stood now. Maybe that was what she needed: a Master to whom she would not be attracted, but who could give her release. She needed someone, since Severus was no longer an option.

She put the card in her pocket for further deliberation and went home, where an owl awaited her. It was from the Ministry.

“Dear Ms. Granger,

“I regret to inform you that, come January, there will be no open training positions in your desired department within the Ministry. I am personally reevaluating your application and NEWT qualifications to see where you best fit. I will owl again with your choices.

“Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister Of Magic”

Hermione sighed and tore the letter apart. What a terrible ending to a terrible day.

 

****

 

Hermione was to be Ginny’s Maid Of Honour at her and Harry’s wedding. The wedding would take place at The Burrow just like Bill’s had, but without any Death Eaters crashing it (she hoped). She was happy for her two friends. They deserved all the happiness in the world. It was just hard seeing so much love, when the man she loved had probably not thought of her in the month since she’d left Hogwarts.

They were all at The Burrow, making plans and Hermione would be trying on her bridesmaid dress with Luna. She managed to apologise to Ron for drenching him in wine, and he apologised for calling her crazy, so things were going smoothly. Hermione’s dress was beautiful, and Ginny’s was stunning. Harry was dying to see it.

Mrs. Weasley came in with a stack of envelopes.  “Here are the RSVPs. The only no you received was from Draco Malfoy,” she told them. “Even Aberforth Dumbledore is coming.”

Harry paid for what was to be a simple but very large wedding, and apparently all of Wizarding Britain wanted to be there. Hermione knew he was loving every bit of attention he was receiving, but Ginny was flustered by it all.

“I wanted a small wedding, not something to rival Muggle royalty!” she complained. “And some of the people we invited...this might be a disaster.”

“Disaster? “ George spoke up. “How can it be a disaster?”

“Yeah,” Fred added. “With Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes providing the fireworks, Mum acting like a drill sergeant, and you about to go off and play pro Quidditch with an Auror husband, this wedding will go off in a snap.”

“I hope so,” Ginny said. “And no pranks, got it? Just fireworks.”

The twins grinned at each other. “Fine, you have our word. But if you want to liven it up a bit with some Dungbombs or a bunch of pygmy puffs leaping from the cake, let us know,” Fred told her.

Hermione went home from the planning and saw an owl waiting for her. It was a list of positions she could choose from, but she needed to send in her answer by 1st September. Auror, Law, Misuse of  Muggle Artifacts, the Registry, Potions Research, and Dark Art Research.

Unexpectedly, she teard up just at the word “Potions”. How silly she was, but she had been living with a metaphorical hole in her heart for a month and a half. Severus Snape would not leave her mind. Her dreams were haunted by him, as were her waking thoughts.

_ How dare he make me love him and leave me to my misery without another thought? Bastard _ , she thought, curling up with Crookshanks. Love was never supposed to hurt like this, was it? Or was it always this painful? It didn't seem so for Harry and Ginny. Nor for Bill and Fleur, or George and Angelina. So why was she so scarred from this bloody emotion? It wasn’t fair. Tears slipped from her eyes as she remembered her last night with Severus. The sex, the caresses, the kisses. Waking up with him. Having him hold her all night.

He had started a fire in her, and if he did not come back to her to curb its fury, it could very well consume her.

 

****

 

The wedding day dawned, and Hermione was waiting in the house with Luna and Ginny. Ron and Harry were already at the altar, and the guests were seated under the large white silk tent in the field.

Hermione and Luna hugged Ginny and assured her she was going to be fine, but someone had brewed a Calming Potion just in case her nerves got out of control, and Ginny drank it gratefully.

The music began, and Hermione took her bouquet of tulips (Ginny’s favourite flower) and began to walk down the aisle, followed closely by Luna, who was also sporting a crown of tulips she made herself. At least it wasn’t radishes!

Hermione saw Harry, nervously fiddling with his glasses, and Ron, who looked like a proud father as he waited for Ginny. The crowd was massive, but as Hermione reached the altar and stood in her proper place, and the whole crowd turned to watch Ginny walk in, there was one set of eyes in the crowd that did not turn, but instead bore into Hermione like lasers.

In a sea of pastel robes and ginger Weasleys, he was easy to see, a dark spot amongst the colour. He watched her like a snake watches a mouse, a smirk never leaving his face. She felt her knees go weak under his gaze, but she did not tear her eyes from his.

She heard none of the service, and barely remembered to cheer when Harry kissed his new wife. When she turned back, he was gone, and she had to wonder if she had not simply imagined him there, watching her just as he once did.

“Hermione?” Luna asked. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve been confused by the Nargles.”

She shook her head. “I think life would be easier if I had, Luna,” she replied before going into the reception area they had set up with a band, food and drinks.

Once in the room, Hermione was greeted by Minerva McGonagall, who did not look very well indeed. Her one time professor asked to speak with her privately and she agreed.

“I am not well, Hermione. In your fifth year, when I was attacked...it weakened my heart, and the Healers say I need to retire, lest I lessen my life by years,” she said, her voice trembling.

“Oh, no, I can’t believe that. Is there anything I can do, Professor?” Hermione asked. She had always looked up to McGonagall, and this news was a crushing blow.

“Yes, there is, actually,” McGonagall said. “Kingsley told me you put in an application to train at the Ministry?” Hermione nodded. “I was wondering if you would accept a position at Hogwarts instead, as a professor.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped. “But, I just graduated. Will any of the older students listen to me? I do not know nearly enough to be a professor!”

“Nonsense.” That one dark word, dripping like honey, came from behind her and she whirled around.

Severus Snape looked every bit the rockstar in black dragonhide boots, black silk slacks, a long black cloak, a black silk shirt with silver accents buttoned up to the throat, and a devilish smile that made him look much younger.

Ignoring Hermione’s stare, he said, “I am  the one who recommended you, Granger. With a crash course before September, I believe you will make a fine new Potions Mistress.”

“Potions, sir?” Hermione asked, automatically falling into her submissive role in his presence without even thinking about it.

“Well, you can’t possibly expect the Headmaster to also teach a class and lead a House, can you? In addition to your teaching duties, you will also be the Head Of Gryffindor House,” he told her. “I already have Andromeda Tonks as the Head Of Slytherin.”

“Hermione, it would mean a lot to the school, and especially to me, if you’d agree,” McGonagall said.

“You’d be wasted at the Ministry,” Severus added. “Protection Of Magical Creatures my arse.”

“Actually, I didn’t get that job, sir,” Hermione said. “I was going to do Potions Research.”

He arched an eyebrow but said nothing, his very presence making her alternately uncomfortable and aroused.

“Yes, I will take the position,” she said. “I didn’t want to waste my time in research. I wanted to do something, and teaching is doing something for the good of others.”

“Wonderful!” Minerva smiled. “I’ll owl you with further information next week.”

Severus stepped between them, dark eyes staring into Hermione’s. “Now, if the business portion of the evening is over with, may I ask you to dance, Ms. Granger?” He held his hand out to her, the picture of elegance. “I happen to know that the music written for tonight is a small masterpiece.”

He took her hand and led her out onto the dancefloor, and she was aware of many eyes on the two of them, as he took her into his arms and began to lead her in a spirited dance she could not name. It required he keep her close, his heat radiating off of him. She couldn’t breathe or think. After weeks of pining, weeks of tears and curses of his name, he was here, he was holding her, and he had to nerve to act as though nothing had happened!

The dance ended, and he did not let her go. Instead, the band started to play a slow number, and Severus began to waltz her around the room. If she had eyes for anyone but him, she would have noticed the stares, the comments (criticism from the men and envy from the women), and the fact that Ron had accidentally spilt his drink while watching how familiar they were with each other.

Pulling her close, so close there was not a hair’s breadth between them, Severus began to sing a song she did not know, his voice low in her ears. This was a serenade for her and her alone.

“There was a time

“When I thought my story had ended

“With loss of life and loss of love

“Loss of purpose was to be expected

“And again one day I was certain I was going home

“My blood spilled and poison in my veins

“But I discovered a reason to live

“And she was the reason why I lived

“Dark and dangerous, she was too sweet to resist

“Her innocent temptations brought me over the edge

“How was I to know

“How could I have expected

“That I could fall in love again?”

Hermione felt weak-kneed, sensations assaulting her: his voice in her ears, his breath against her neck, the sight of his arms around her, and the scent of his cologne made the world spin. The words he was singing...were they his? Was it for her? Dare she even think it?

She needed air, and she wrenched herself away from him and quickly made her way through the crowd and into the cool night air. She breathed deeply, willing her heart rate to slow and her knees to stop shaking.

“Hermione.” He was at her side, just the two of them in the English countryside, under the stars.

Remembering the last time they had been alone, Hermione found the emotions too much to hold in any longer and she whirled around to face him. “Don't you dare, Severus Snape! Don’t try to charm me!” She felt tears leaking down her face. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been going through since I left Hogwarts? Do you?”

“No. Why don't you enlighten me?” he deadpanned.

“Oooh, you rotten son of a bitch!” she yelled. “You should understand, feeling love for someone who will never return your feelings! I finally understand how you have hurt all these years, pining after Lily! I wish I could Obliviate you from my memory, Severus. I wish...I wish you could feel even a fraction for me what I feel for you.” She was sobbing now, turning away from him so he could not see how weak she was. How weak he mad her.

His arms came around her waist, pulling her to him, front to back. She let go, gave up, and sagged against him. “How can I work with you when seeing you makes my heart break anew?”

She felt him nuzzle her neck and her tears came harder. She could never have him, and he was torturing her!

She felt him chuckle against her skin. “You silly, naive little girl. I think Gryffindors are so stubborn they sometimes get mental tunnel vision.”

“Don’t make fun of me!” she gasped.

“I’m not. Merely observing. Turn around, pet,” he ordered. “Look at me.” He tilted her head to look in his eyes, hand on her chin so she could not look away. “You love me?”

She scoffed. “You know I do. And that’s why this hurts so much. I saw that photo of you and Lily in your room. You will always love her, and I will be nothing more than a notch on your bedpost.”

He gazed down at her. “You are wrong, Hermione. Yes, I love Lily. I will love her until the day I die. But Lily is gone, and for the first time since her death, I began to accept it once I realised that I was...attracted to you. Lily was my first love, but she will not be my last.” His other hand came to rest on her waist. “Would you like to know how difficult it was for me to let you go? To think that you would find another Master, another man to give your body and your heart to?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, Severus, I could not find anyone. I even looked into a BDSM club. I couldn’t...I couldn’t imagine anyone else ever touching me. I only wanted you, sir. I only  _ want  _ you.”

Severus seemed to snap then, yanking her closer and pressing his lips to hers in a fierce, possessive kiss. Hermione felt herself go nearly limp in his arms and he held her, his lips and tongue plundering her mouth, taking her over once again.

He pulled back enough to look in her eyes, and what she saw there both frightened and excited her.

“You are  _ mine _ , Hermione Granger. My pet, my lover, my sub, and if you’ll have me, you will also be my love,” he said. “I will be your only Master, the only man you will love.”

Hermione was crying again as she kissed him. “Yes, Severus, I only want you. I only love you.”

They never noticed the fireworks the twins set off, or the fact that Mrs. Weasley tried (unsuccessfully) to get hem back in the tent to join the dinner.

Severus Apparated them to his home in Spinner’s End, where he proceeded to prove to Hermione once again that he was the only man for her.

 

****

 

“Hey.”

Her husband’s voice cut through her memories.

“You were late tonight,” Hermione said, watching as he tiredly removed his clothes and climbed into bed with her, encircling her in his arms.

“Two expulsions. And no, I did not enjoy it. You looked lost in thought when I came in,” he commented.

She nodded. “I was thinking about how this-- _ we _ \--came about.”

“Having regrets?” he asked her, and she felt him smirk as he kissed the back of her neck, his tongue hitting her pulse point and making her groan.

“Don’t be an arse, Severus.”

She felt his hand come down hard between her legs and she yelped.

“Don’t call me names, pet, or I’ll leave my wand inside of you all night. See if you feel repentant in the morning.” He slapped her wetness again. “I will never get tired of how wet you get for me. Being a married woman made you no less of a slut.”

“Only for you, Master. Only for you.”

He slipped two fingers inside of her, lazily stroking her as she felt his cock getting hard against her bottom.

“To think, all this started because Bill Weasley sent Ginny that record,” she said, arching her back to get more friction.

Severus bit her neck, drawing blood. “Yes. remind me to thank him one day.”

He turned Hermione on her back, and she saw him looking down at her with an expression of love so pure she wanted to cry.

“I love you, Severus.”

“And I you, Hermione Snape.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, please leave kudos and comments!


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